


Notting Hill

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Based on the movie Notting Hill. Dean Winchester is a hot, Hollywood actor, the reader is a bookstore owner. What happens when their paths cross?





	

You unlocked the door, peering out the window at the crowds of people wandering the streets of the weekly farmers’ market. Not that many of them would manage to wander into your bookstore. They rarely did. You were lucky the bookstore was still open; it had been struggling for months. You prayed everyday you could keep it open.

You sighed, flipped the sign to ‘Open’ and began straightening the books in the window - even though they weren’t messed up and didn’t need straightening - sipping from the coffee in your hand every now and then. You lost yourself in the books, just like you always did, off in your own little world. You were so absorbed in what you were doing that you didn’t hear the door behind you open or realize anyone was in the shop until someone cleared their throat behind you.

You screamed and swung around, the coffee in your hand splashing all over the man standing less than a foot away from you, immediately staining his white button-down shirt.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, setting the cup down and grabbing the rag you’d been dusting with, dabbing at the spreading coffee stain.

He grabbed your wrist, stopping you. “It’s okay, really,” he murmured.

You looked up and suddenly you were staring into a pair of brilliant green eyes, sparkling with laughter. Familiar green eyes. You couldn’t stop the slight gasp as you realized who it was.

Dean Winchester. Movie star, Academy Award nominee, People’s Sexiest Man Alive, one Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors was standing in your bookstore, covered in your coffee, that money making smirk of his making your heart stop. 

You suddenly lost the ability to speak; all you could do was stare, your hand with the rag still pressed to his chest. You were pretty sure your mouth was hanging open.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m...I’m sorry. It’s just...um...you’re, uh, Dean...well, you’re Dean Winchester.” You realized you still had your hand on his chest. You dropped it and stammered another apology. 

“It’s fine, really,” Dean chuckled. “But, um, do you have someplace I can change out of my stained shirt?” He shrugged, and Jesus Christ if he didn’t look adorable doing it. If it was possible, he was even better looking in person.

“Um, yeah, um, give me a minute,” you nodded. You practically sprinted to the back of the shop, calling for your friend and employee, Zoe. She came out of the store room, a smile on her face.

“Zoe, I need you to watch the shop. I, uh, I have to do something.” You gestured vaguely in the direction of the front of the shop.

“Oh, sure,” Zoe grinned.

You hurried back to the front of the store and gestured to Dean to follow you. You opened a side door and led him up a narrow staircase to your apartment above the bookstore. 

“The bathroom’s through there,” you said, pointing down a short hallway. “Just go into the bedroom and make a right.”

Dean nodded and followed your directions. He disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing quietly behind him. You dropped to the couch, trying to wrap your head around the fact that one of the world’s most popular and most handsome actors was changing his clothes in your bathroom. Shit, it was hard enough to believe he’d been in your store, let alone in your  _ bathroom _ .

He emerged a few minutes later in a red plaid shirt, a cell phone in his hand. You tried not to listen as he asked for a car to come pick him up and gave directions. He nodded a few times, sighing heavily as he hung up the phone.

“It’s going to be about a half an hour,” he shrugged.

“You can wait here,” you smiled, praying you didn’t look creepy. “I don’t mind.” Of course you didn’t mind. You’d only had a crush on him since you and he were both teenagers. You took a deep breath and picked at some invisible lint on your skirt.

“So, Notting Hill, huh?” he asked after a few minutes.

“I’m sorry?” you mumbled, confused.

“The name of your store? Notting Hill?” Dean chuckled.

“Oh, oh yeah.” You shook your head. “I, huh, it’s one of my favorite movies. So I named my store after it.” You could feel a blush coloring your cheeks. “Silly, I know.”

“Not silly at all,” Dean smiled reassuringly. “I kind of like it.”

“Did you come in looking for anything specific?” you inquired. “I could go grab it for you.”

“No,” he laughed. “Sorry. I...I, uh, actually ducked inside to avoid a bunch of photographers I saw up the street. And the rest, is well, as they say history.”

Dean was surprisingly easy to talk to, way more sweet and funny than you’d imagined he would be. He talked to you about your shop, how long you’d lived in Los Angeles, and a million other things. He was down to earth and not “movie star-ish” at all, listening intently and asking a lot of questions.  

You had no idea how long the two of you had been talking when the phone in his hand rang, interrupting your conversation.

“That’ll be my driver,” he said. “Excuse me a minute.” He stepped into your tiny kitchen, muttering quietly. He looked questioningly at you when he disconnected the call.

“Does this place have a back entrance?”

* * *

It had been a week and you were still reeling from Dean Winchester’s visit to your shop. You couldn’t get over how sweet and down-to-earth he’d been, how easy he was to talk to, just like a normal person. He’d kissed your cheek and squeezed your hand before he’d climbed into his car. You’d been floating on the proverbial cloud nine ever since. You knew you’d never see him again, that it was nothing more than a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, but that didn’t stop the daydreams and wishful musings.

So when the shop phone rang just before closing on Saturday night and none other than Dean Winchester was on the other end, you were half convinced that you were still daydreaming. You somehow managed to stammer out a “Hello” and then you couldn’t do anything but stand there with your mouth hanging open as he asked if you’d join him at a family gathering Sunday afternoon at his parents.

“Wait? You...you’re asking me out?” Your head was spinning at the thought. “Are you sure you have the right number?”

Dean laughed, deep and sexy, the sound making you quiver in all the right places. You choked back a moan and forced yourself to concentrate rather than getting lost in its perfection.

“No, Y/N, I don’t have the wrong number,” he continued. “I had a really great time talking to you the other day and I’d...I just thought maybe you might, I don’t know...go out with me. I...I...figured a family gathering with no press or fans or all that other crap might be a good way to start. If you don’t want to -”

“No, no,” you interrupted, “I want to!”

“Great! Um, my driver, Benny, will pick you up tomorrow, around eleven, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmured. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You carefully dropped the phone back into the cradle.

Hopefully, the ridiculous grin on your face would get itself under control by tomorrow, otherwise Dean would think he was dating a crazy person.

* * *

You had a date with Dean Winchester. That thought wouldn’t stop running through your head while you got ready, while you drank three cups of coffee, and while you paced back and forth across the front of the shop, stopping every few seconds to peer out the front window, bouncing with nervous energy.

When the black SUV pulled to a stop out front, you were out the door before Dean’s driver could step out. He shook your hand and introduced himself, then he ushered you into the backseat. He didn’t say much as he drove you out of town, finally turning down a dirt drive and coming to a stop a few hundred yards in front of a large, rambling farmhouse.

Benny held the door for you, smiling as you hopped out of the car.

“Wow, is this Dean’s?” you asked.

“Nah,” Benny chuckled, “it’s his parents’ place. Nice, huh?”

“Y/N!” Dean appeared on the porch, hurried down the steps and took your hand. “You made it. Thanks, Benny.”

“Anytime, brother,” he shrugged and disappeared into the house.

“Hi, Dean.” You blushed as your voice got all high and squeaky. You cleared your throat and said the thing that had been on your mind since you’d climbed in the car. “I really appreciate you inviting me, but won’t this be weird? I mean, we just met and this is your family. I’m sure they’d rather spend time with you without some...I don’t know...fangirl around.” You hated to say it, but it was true. No sense pulling any punches.

“Oh, is that what you are?” he smirked. “Well, if anything it will be a refreshing change from the stuck-up, snotty actresses I’ve been dating lately. Come on, let’s go meet my family, get it over with.” He dragged you up the steps and into the house.

Dean’s family was nothing short of amazing. They welcomed you with open arms and not once did you feel uncomfortable or as if you didn’t belong. They included you in the conversation, even insisting you join the family badminton tournament that was being held in the backyard. They treated Dean like he was a normal person, which you supposed, to them, he was - just somebody’s son and brother, not some movie star earning multi-million dollar paychecks for pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

You weren’t sure you’d ever had more fun than you did hanging out with Dean’s family. He and his brother Sam had you laughing almost constantly, their bantering kept a constant smile on your face; his parents were absolutely wonderful and obviously in love; and you even figured out that Benny had a playful streak. The day seemed to fly by and before you knew it, the sun was setting and it was time to go.

John squeezed your hand as he shook it, giving you a warm smile. “Don’t be a stranger, Y/N,” he said. 

“I won’t,” you grinned, though of course only Dean could make the decision to bring you around again.

You were surprised when both Sam and Mary gave you a hug goodbye, reiterating John’s request that you not be a stranger. You laughed and once again promised to do your best.

“Come on, shug, let’s get you home,” Benny said, holding the door to the Escalade open for you.

“Benny, wait,” called Dean, stopping his friend and driver. “I’ll take Y/N home.”

“Are you sure, brother?” Benny asked. 

You could hear the concern in his voice, see it in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Dean nodded. “I’ve got the Impala. No one will know it’s me.”

Benny nodded, but he didn’t seem very happy about Dean’s decision. He pushed the door closed and stalked around the SUV, climbed inside and left without another word. Dean rolled his eyes, took your hand and pulled you around the back of a huge red barn. Parked there was a beautiful black car, shining in the moonlight.

“Wow, she’s gorgeous,” you gasped.

“Yeah, she’s definitely my Baby,” Dean explained. “I’ve had her since I was eighteen. It was the car I bought with my first big paycheck. I’ve kept her stashed here on Mom and Dad’s ranch. She’s my one big secret.” He pulled open the passenger side door and gestured for you to get in.

The ride back into Los Angeles was probably the best part of the day. You and Dean talked about everything - growing up, school, favorite books, favorite movies, favorite television shows, past boyfriends and girlfriends, everything. Dean seemed genuinely open and honest with you, laughing, joking, but also willing and able to answer any of your serious questions. By the time he pulled to a stop in the back alley behind the shop and put the car in park, you felt like you might actually know the real Dean, the one behind the public persona.

Dean reached across the seat and took your hand, smiling. He leaned over, cupped your face in his hand, and brushed his lips across yours, a soft, sweet kiss. You slid across the seat, into the circle of his arms, your hands around the back of his neck, your body pressed tight against his. Dean’s thumb brushed across your cheekbone, his hands sliding into your hair, holding you close, the kiss deepening quickly.

You had no idea how long the two of you sat in the front seat of his car, but when you finally broke apart, the windows were fogged over, your clothes were askew, Dean’s hair was standing on end, and your lips were swollen from his kisses.

“Hey, why don’t you come to my hotel tomorrow?” he said. “We’ll go get lunch or something.”

“Or something?” you giggled.

Dean shook his head, laughing under his breath. “I promise to behave myself,” he vowed. “Say you’ll come?”

“Alright,” you nodded. “I’ll be there.”

Dean walked you to the door, your hand in his. He kissed you until you couldn’t breathe properly, then he kissed you a few more times before releasing you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered. “The Peninsula Beverly Hills. Ask for Buzz Lightyear.”

“What?” you giggled.

“Just trust me,” he grinned. He kissed your cheek and then he was gone, climbing into his car and driving off into the night.

* * *

The Peninsula Beverly Hills was one of the most opulent hotels in the city. You felt seriously underdressed in the jeans and blouse you’d thrown on, and you felt even sillier asking the concierge for Buzz Lightyear’s room number, but he didn’t hesitate to give it to you, a funny smile on his face.

You paused outside the door, taking a second to fuss with your hair and your clothes, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. You were still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that you were here to see Dean. You took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Dean yanked the door open, his brow furrowed, his teeth clenched in irritation. He shot a glance over his shoulder, then turned back to you.

“Look, I’m really sorry, but I can’t take you to lunch,” he said.

Before you could say anything, a beautiful woman emerged from the bedroom. She had her blonde hair up in a ponytail and she was wearing yoga pants and a sports bra. She walked right up to Dean, wrapped her hand around his bicep and stared pointedly at you.

“Who’s this?” she asked, eyeing you up and down.

“This is Y/N. She’s Bobby’s new assistant.” Dean refused to meet your eyes.

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut. You took a step back, gripping your bag so hard your hands hurt.

“Wow, he’s really scraping the bottom of the barrel these days,” the girl huffed. “Anyway, hurry up, I made lunch reservations at the restaurant downstairs.” She kissed Dean on the cheek, lingering longer than necessary before giving you a dirty look and flitting away.

You could only stare after her, your mouth ajar, before turning to look at Dean. He was shaking his head and scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“Who’s that?” you whispered.

“That’s uh...that’s my girlfriend, Anne Marie” Dean mumbled. “Well, she  _ was _  my girlfriend...but -”

“No need to explain,” you spat. “I get it.” You turned on your heel and hurried down the hall, praying you could hold your tears at bay until you were out of the building.

* * *

It was hard to forget about Dean when everywhere you turned, you saw him. You hadn’t seen or talked to him for months, not since the fiasco at the hotel, but you couldn’t get away from him. He had some new movie coming out, so the posters and the trailers were all over, there was even a big ass billboard downtown with his picture on it. For some reason, you felt the need to torture yourself by watching every single thing about the movie you could find, furiously searching the internet for even the smallest video clip. You even picked up a couple of magazines with his face on them in the grocery store, just in case you hadn’t made yourself feel crappy enough. You’d finally had to put yourself on lockdown, refusing to turn on a computer, the television, or even pick up your phone for more than a text or a call. You were obsessing and it wasn’t healthy. Screw Dean Winchester and everything about him. You did not care.

You checked your watch, then closed the book on the counter in front of you. You sought out Zoe to tell her that you were going upstairs to grab some food, ignoring her offer to buy you lunch and hang out with you. You wanted to be alone to wallow in your misery some more. You were halfway up the stairs, heading for your apartment, when you heard a quiet knock on the back entrance.

The man standing at the door was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled down low enough to shield his face, an oversized leather jacket, and he carrying an old and tattered backpack.

“Hey, Y/N, can I come in?”

“Dean? What...what, um, what are you doing here?” you stammered. You couldn’t believe he had the nerve to show up at your shop and ask to come in. You were about to slam the door in his face when he pulled the sunglasses off and looked up at you.

His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, like he hadn’t slept or he’d been crying. He shrugged, a small gesture that spoke volumes. “I...I don’t know where else to go,” he mumbled. “The press are surrounding my parents house, my house, even Sam’s.”

“What? Why?”

“I can explain everything, I swear. Can I just come in?” He shifted from foot to foot, throwing worried glances over his shoulder every couple of seconds.

You stepped aside, sighing heavily as Dean came in. He followed you upstairs and into your apartment. He tossed his backpack on the couch, along with his jacket and hat, the sunglasses tucked in the pocket of his shirt. He sat down and put his head in his hands.

“Alright, tell me what’s going on,” you said, sitting in a chair across from him.

“You haven’t seen it on TV or one of those stupid tabloids?” Dean shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s everywhere.” He reached into his backpack, pulled out a magazine, and tossed it to you.

**_Dean Winchester. Alcoholic!_ **

The title took up the entire front cover of the magazine, bright, bold, huge letters screaming out something that was never meant to be public. Below it was a terrible picture of Dean; he had a bottle in his hand, blurred out, a look of irritation marring his perfect face, and one hand held up trying to block the camera. He looked like he was drunk.

You set the magazine down on the coffee table between you and cleared your throat. “Is it true?” you asked.

“They left off the word recovering,” Dean explained. “I’m a  _ recovering _  alcoholic. I haven’t had a drink since I was in my early twenties. But yes, Y/N, I’m an alcoholic. When I was young and stupid and making more money than I knew what to do with, all I wanted to do was party. Party and drink. But the drinking got out of control and before I knew it, I couldn’t start my day without a drink, couldn’t memorize my lines without a drink, couldn’t walk on set without a drink, couldn’t sleep without a drink. I couldn’t fucking do anything without a drink. On my twenty-third birthday, I went to a bar, some shitty dive bar where I got in a fight, beat the shit out of some guy, broke his nose, fractured his jaw. I don’t even remember why. He sued. I’d just started a movie, a good movie, a fantastic movie, the best part I’ve ever had. But the studio fired me, said they couldn’t handle the bad publicity. My manager kept most of it out of the press and my parents insisted I go to rehab. I haven’t had a drink since.”

“That was almost fifteen years ago,” you commented. “Why is this coming out now?”

Dean sighed and fell back against the couch. He put his arm over his eyes, almost as if he was trying to hide. “Look at the story, the source.”

You flipped open the magazine and quickly skimmed the story, your eyes widening when you discovered who had spoken to the press.

“Anne Marie,” you noted. “It was Anne Marie? But, I...I thought you two were together.”

“Together,” Dean scoffed. “Please. She was only ever with me for the publicity. When I broke up with her, this was her way of retaliating  _ and  _ getting attention. Most of that article is made up bullshit. I never once had a drink when I was with her, we never got in a fight because of my drinking, everything she said is a lie. She took something I told her in confidence, a truth I thought I could trust her with and she told the world. And now the press is having a heyday, pulling out the stops, over-analyzing everything I do. Was I drunk here? Did I slur my words there? Why are my eyes bloodshot in that interview? Did I stumble because I was drunk? They’re doing all they can to prove that I’m still drinking. They’re relentless, camped out at my parents, at Sam’s, following me from my house. Benny had to drive like a goddamn maniac to get away from them. I had to slip out of the car at a stoplight and slink away like a common criminal. I have nowhere to go. Somehow, I ended up here. I’m sorry, Y/N, I really am. Sorry for everything -  for what happened that day at the hotel, for showing up here unannounced, all of it.”

He wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t move his arm off of his eyes. You sat and watched him for a minute, your heart aching at how defeated he seemed, slumped against the couch, a pained expression on what you could see of his face.

“You can stay here as long as you need to,” you offered. “In fact, I was about to make some lunch. I’ve got enough for two. You hungry?”

“Starving,” he replied. “Absolutely starving.”

* * *

It wasn’t nearly as weird hanging out with Dean as you had thought it would be, once you got past the initial awkwardness. You made lunch and tried to talk about something that wasn’t his name splashed all over the tabloids. After lunch, you helped him work on his lines for a new movie he’d been cast in and he joined you in the bookstore’s stockroom unloading boxes. The day flew by.

Dinner was pizza from the restaurant up the street, eaten in your office at the back of the shop. Once you closed for the night, Dean followed you upstairs and made himself comfortable, crammed on your tiny couch. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave and you weren’t in any hurry to ask him to go. You were comfortable with him and he with you, so comfortable that you weren’t surprised when you looked over and he was asleep, one leg hanging off of the side of the couch, his arm thrown over his face, light snores coming from him. You tossed a blanket over him and went to bed.

You couldn’t sleep, instead you were laying in the dark staring at the ceiling, wondering what would happen tomorrow when Dean walked out the door. It hurt to even think about it.

There was a light tap on the door, then Dean stuck his head in. “Y/N, you awake?”

“Hey, you okay?” You pushed yourself up on your elbows, trying to see his face in the faint light filtering through the curtain covered window.

Dean crossed the room in two long strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, his tongue just drifting across your lips. He rested his forehead on yours, his breath dragging in and out of his throat, his green eyes staring into yours. 

“Please don’t ask me to leave,” he implored. “I only want to hold you, just for a while.”

You lifted the blankets on the bed, scooting backwards to make room for him. He slid in beside you, his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head.

He was warm, really warm, and solid, there in a way that seemed impossible to resist. You traced your fingers over his too tight t-shirt and listened to the sound of his heartbeat, sighing contentedly. God help you, but you loved this feeling.

You couldn’t stop yourself, in fact you didn’t even think about what you were doing, you just tipped your head back and pressed a kiss to his neck, then another and another. You pushed your hands beneath his shirt, your hands splayed across his back, kissing your way up his neck to his jaw, finally catching his lips in yours.

Dean moaned, low and quiet in the back of his throat, his grip on you tightening, his fingers drifting under the edge of the tank top you were wearing. His tongue slipped into your mouth, drawing you into a deep, soul-scorching kiss that had heat flooding your body, making you ache with need.

You grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand up your side to your breast, your back arching, silently encouraging him to touch you. His thumb brushed across the nipple, the peak immediately hardening at his touch. You fisted his shirt in your hands and yanked it over his head. Your tank top was next, then your sleep shorts, followed by the sweatpants Dean had been wearing.

Dean pulled your leg over his, his hardening cock, still covered by his boxers, pressed against your panty clad center. He slid his hand up the back of your thigh, cupping your ass, his hips pushing up and into your yours.

You gasped his name, pulling him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders, a deep growl leaving him when he slipped his fingers into your panties. A shudder vibrated through you as he slowly caressed you, his head dropping so he could wrap his lips around your breast.

You moaned louder, grinding against him, pushing yourself down onto his questing fingers, his hard shaft trapped between your bodies, Dean’s groans matching your own as he thrust against you. His teeth clamped down on your nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through you, the sudden orgasm surprising you, your vision going black, a light sweat breaking out all over your body, your hips rocking erratically.

Dean shoved your panties down your legs, moaning as you pushed his boxers out of the way. He kept kissing you, the two of you lying side by side, your leg thrown over his hip, his cock in his hand, lined up with your entrance. He pulled away, his eyes locked on yours.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” you moaned, “Jesus, yes.”

Dean eased into you, giving you time to adjust to his size. Once he was fully seated, he wrapped both arms around you, his hips moving in slow, tight circles, your breasts pressed to his chest, his hands splayed across your back, his lips on yours.

It was intense, incredible, the best sex you’d ever had. Dean was attentive, caring, doing everything he could to make sure you were enjoying yourself, his lips, his hands, his mouth everywhere, every tip of his hips pushing him deeper and deeper into your warmth. You were clinging to him, your body on fire, completely overwhelmed by the sensations rolling through you.

Dean’s hands moved up to your shoulders, pulling you down onto his throbbing cock, his hips pumping fast and hard, the rhythm stuttering as he approached his own release. Another orgasm washed over you, overwhelming in its intensity. Dean buried his face in your neck as he came, grunting in satisfaction.

You separated, the two of you collapsing onto the small bed, shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped. You closed your eyes, listening to Dean breathe, the sound lulling you to sleep.

* * *

“I’m starving,” Dean said, tugging his hat down low on his head. “Is that bagel place up the street still open?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you nodded, stretching languidly. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“Nah, I got this.” He put the sunglasses from his pocket on, leaned over and kissed you. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

You rolled over and pulled the sheet up to your chin. You were nearly asleep when the sound of a slamming door echoed through the house, then cursing and yelling as Dean pounded up the stairs. You were at the doorway between the bedroom and the living room by the time he burst through the door a few seconds later, the sheet wrapped around you. He snatched his backpack off the table and began shoving his things into it.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” You took a tentative step into the room. 

“Fucking paparazzi is everywhere,” he growled. “Everywhere.” His eyes darted around, finally landing on his phone on the coffee table. He grabbed it and punched in a number.

“It’s me. I’m at Y/N’s and the goddamn press is everywhere. I need you here, now.” He shoved it in his pocket. You took a step closer, wanting to comfort him, but Dean took a step back, his hands coming up as if he was pushing you away.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” you asked.

“How’d they know I was here, Y/N?” His words were low, quiet, his voice deeper than it usually was.

“Wh..what?” you sputtered. “I...I...don’t under-understand.”

“The press. They found me, but the only people who know that I am here are you and Benny. So, how the fuck did they find out I was here?”

“Are you -” You tried to swallow around the lump in your throat. “Are you accusing me of telling them you’re here?”

“Benny wouldn’t do it” he snapped. “He’s my friend!”

“And I just slept with you!” you yelled.

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone slept with me for the publicity. Get your little failing bookstore on the map, maybe?” His words were biting and laced with anger. “Help you out of the little financial slump you’re in?”

You could only stand there and stare at him, your mouth hanging open. You didn’t even know what to say.

Dean’s phone rang before you could do anything. He answered it, said a couple of words you barely registered, grabbed his backpack and left. You heard him go down the stairs, the back entrance opening, voices screaming and yelling his name, then the door closed and there was blessed silence. Your knees gave out and you slid to the floor.

* * *

_ Two months later _

“Y/N?”

You swung around at the sound of your name, fumbling with the stack of books in your arms. You didn’t recognize the owner of the voice right away and it took a second to register that it was Dean Winchester’s younger brother, Sam.

“Sam, hi!” You forced a smile on your face and did your best to sound like you weren’t teetering on the edge of crying just thinking about Dean.

“Hey, how’ve you been?” Sam asked.

“Good, good,” you lied. “You?”

“Really good, thanks,” he smiled. “I thought you promised not to be a stranger? We haven’t seen you for months.” 

“Well, you know -”

Sam put his hand up, stopping you. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I know my brother. You know what? I’m meeting my parents for lunch up the street. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” you shook your head.

“Don’t be silly,” Sam said. “My parents would love to see you.”

You tried arguing, but he wouldn’t take no for answer, so you finally gave in, set the stack of books on the counter, grabbed your purse, and flipped the sign on the door to closed. It was nice talking to Sam, even when he asked you what had happened between you and his brother. He listened patiently as you explained, waiting until you were done speaking before he said anything.

“Look, my brother’s an idiot,” Sam said. “But those paparazzi, they’re relentless. He can’t go anywhere, do anything, without them hounding him. When all that stuff came out about his drinking, it was especially hard on him. He’s worked for years to keep that a secret because he is incredibly ashamed of what happened, how screwed up things got. He doesn’t trust anyone with that secret. Anne Marie, well, I think he thought they might be the real thing. Of course, that wasn’t the case and when she used that secret against him to try and get publicity, it tore him apart. Try to give him a break.”

You blushed, heat flooding your cheeks. Dean had tried to call you too many times to count and you had refused to talk to him, telling yourself it was to save your dignity. Of course, hindsight was 20/20 and it was too late to do anything.

Sam held open the restaurant door for you, gesturing for you to go in ahead of him. You spotted his parents right away, a wide smile spreading across Mary’s face when she saw you. She and John rose to their feet as you approached.

“Y/N!” Mary gathered you in her arms and hugged you. “It’s so good to see you. Sam?”

“Hey, Mom,” Sam kissed his mother’s cheek. “I was in Y/N’s shop, invited her to lunch.” 

“I hope that’s okay?” you smiled.

“Of course,” John said. He winked at you as he pulled out a chair and gestured for you to sit down.

Conversation with the Winchesters was easy and even though you hadn’t seen them in months, they welcomed you like you were one of the family. You were actually starting to feel comfortable when Dean entered the restaurant.

You stopped talking mid-sentence, your mouth snapping shut loud enough that the click of your teeth was audible even over the noise of the restaurant. He didn’t see you at first, engaged in conversation with Benny. He stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes finally met yours. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears and the two of you stared at each other over the table. 

Dean was the first to smile. He sat down, nodding your direction.

“It’s good to see, Y/N,” Dean said. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m doing well, thank you,” you whispered. You picked up your fork, pushing your food around your plate, listening to the Winchesters and Benny talk around you. Every time you looked up, Dean was staring at you. 

The meal was the longest forty-five minutes of your life. It was nearly over when Dean slid into the empty chair beside you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he murmured.

“Hi.” You tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace.

“You didn’t answer my calls or texts,” he said. “I wanted to -”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Dean,” you shook your head. “Please, just...I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “But, I have to say  _ one _  thing. I’m sorry. I was an ass and I made a terrible mistake. I know I can’t make it up to you, but if you’ll give me a chance, I’d like to try.” He took your hand and squeezed it gently.

You were so shocked, you didn’t know what to say. You gave Dean a tentative smile, turned your hand over, laced your fingers through his and squeezed back. A heart-stopping smile spread across his face, he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, mouthing “thank you.”

After a few minutes, you excused yourself to use the restroom, leaning against the door after you’d locked it behind you. You splashed some water on your face, checked your hair, and straightened your clothes. You were hoping beyond hope that Dean had meant what he said.

When you felt like your racing heart had finally slowed and the deep red blush on your cheeks had turned to a rosy pink, you opened the door and made your way back to the table. You were almost there when you heard voices coming from a short hallway near the hostess stand.

“I can’t be seen with her, Benny,” you heard Dean say.

You stopped, stepping back into the shadows, listening.

“If people see me with her after what happened at her place,” he continued, “they’ll get the wrong idea. The press will eat her alive. Some no name bookshop owner dating someone like me? How’s that going to look? I can just hear -”

You bit your lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, hot tears stinging your eyes. You choked back a sob, turned and ran back down the hallway, bursting through the door leading to the back alley behind the restaurant. You turned and sprinted up the street, putting as much distance as possible between yourself and Dean Winchester.

* * *

“Y/N? Y/N, there’s someone here to see you,” Zoe yelled from the front of the store.

You sighed heavily and pushed yourself out from behind your desk. You ran a hand through your hair and forced yourself to move. You weren’t in the mood for solicitors, salesmen, or irritating, demanding customers. In fact, you weren’t in the mood for anyone. Not after yesterday. You just wanted to hide and be left alone.

Dean was standing at the front of the store, a plain, brown wrapped package in his hands. He was shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Dean? What are you doing here?”

“You, uh, you disappeared yesterday,” he shrugged.

You considering lying to him, some kind of platitudes meant to make him feel better. But when you opened your mouth, that wasn’t what came out.

“I heard what you said to Benny,” you whispered. 

“You heard what I -” He stopped himself, gnawing on his lower lip. “Y/N, you don’t understand. That’s not how I feel.”

“No name bookstore owner,” you snapped. “Wasn’t that what you said?”

“I was...my agent...look, it’s not like it sounds,” he sighed. “I want this to work. I came here to ask you to give me another chance. I’ve...I’ve never felt like this, Y/N, the way I feel when I’m with you.”

You were shaking his head before he finished speaking. “I don’t think so, Dean. Every time I let you in, I somehow end up hurt, while you come out of it unscathed. It’s too much.” You gestured vaguely at him. “You’re too much, this life you live. The press, the movies, the hiding who you really are.”

“You know none of that’s real, right? That public persona, that’s not me,” he murmured. “Give me a chance, let me show you who I really am. Please, Y/N, can’t you just give me another chance?”

“No, Dean, I can’t.” You could feel the tears coming. You didn’t want to cry in front of Dean, you couldn’t. “I just can’t.”

Dean licked his lips and nodded. He set the package in his hands on the counter, patted it twice and turned to the door. He opened it, the bell ringing cheerily, but he stopped with his hand on the knob and looked back at you.

“You know what, Y/N? I’m just a regular guy, asking a regular girl to give him a chance, to let him show her what and who he really is. I wanted the chance to let you get to know me. I wanted the chance to show you that I could love you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back the tears. When you opened them, Dean was gone.

* * *

“What’s in the package?” Zoe asked.

You jumped, startled, not expecting her to be standing behind you. You’d been staring at the package in your hand for God only knew how long, your heart in your throat, silent tears rolling down your face.

“It’s a book,” you managed to choke out. “My favorite book in fact. A very rare, signed copy of my favorite book.”

“Dean gave it to you?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah, he did. I can’t believe he remembered. We talked about it months ago, on our first date I think. It was an offhand comment, something about loving Little Women and Louisa May Alcott since I was a little girl and how that love spurned my love off all books, which led to the bookstore. I never expected him to remember.”

“But he did,” Zoe shrugged. “What did he want?”

“Another chance.”

“And?” Zoe prompted.

“And I told him no.” You swallowed, shock reverberating through you as you heard the words come out of your mouth. You’d told him no. No. You dropped the book to the counter and raced for the door.

“Where are you going?” Zoe yelled after you.

“I have to find Dean!”

Four blocks from the shop you finally slowed to a stop and leaned against the side of a building. You had no idea where you were going, you weren’t sure what you’d been thinking. Only one thought had been on your mind - find Dean and fix this.

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket, so you pulled it free, your hands shaking so much you nearly dropped it.

_ He’s at the Peninsula - press conference. _

“Thank you, Zoe,” you muttered under your breath. You hailed a cab and told him where to take you, praying you wouldn’t hit the typical Los Angeles traffic.

But of course you couldn’t be that lucky. Five blocks from the the Peninsula, traffic came to a screeching halt. You threw some money over the seat, jumped from the cab and sprinted the five blocks to the hotel. You burst through the hotel double doors just in time to see Dean being led down a side hallway by Benny and several other men who could only be his bodyguards. Crowds of reporters with microphones and cameras surrounded him. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, not caring who answered, just wanting to find out what all the excitement was about.

“Dean Winchester just announced he’s taking an indefinite amount of time off,” an older, well-dressed woman with a camera answered. “Said he’s done acting for a while, said he can’t be in LA anymore and he’s leaving.”

Reporters on all sides of you were screaming questions at Dean, the noise deafening. You called his name, but there was no way he heard you. He stopped beside Benny, waiting for one of the other men to open the door, glancing over his shoulder at the crowds of people. His eyes locked on yours, a confused look crossing his face. He took a step toward you, then another, before Benny put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

Silence descended on the room, everything suddenly deathly quiet. You swallowed, the sound echoing so loudly in your ears you were sure everyone could hear it. You took a deep breath, your fists clenched at your side.

“Yes,” you blurted. “Yes, Dean. Yes, I’ll give you another chance.”

Dean was across the room in a heartbeat, pulling you into his arms, his lips crashing into yours. He kissed you until you were breathless and then he kissed you some more.

* * *

The radio in the corner of the bookstore was tuned to the local news station. Zoe turned it up as the story played.

_ In entertainment news today, actor Dean Winchester announced his engagement to his girlfriend and LA bookstore owner, Y/N Y/L/N. The couple is planning a spring wedding. _

 


End file.
